


The Significance of Dripping Oil

by CrazyBatLady



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Gen, Hatchworth - Freeform, Rabbit Walter - Freeform, The Jon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyBatLady/pseuds/CrazyBatLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colonel Peter Walter I's attempts to find The Spine on a rare off-day lead to some interesting discoveries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Significance of Dripping Oil

“Spine? Where are you, my boy?”

Colonel Walter scratched his head, perfectly perplexed. Today was one of those rare off-days when he had a relatively clear schedule, often preceded by days of hard study. He had already found his other metal men during his travels through the manor. Rabbit had been practising accordion, eagerly giving Walter a small concert of what he had learned so far. His metallic fingers had clattered over the keys as he performed a rousing (if occasionally off-key) rendition of a drinking song he had once heard, prompting an enthusiastic round of applause from Colonel Walter. The Jon had been outside close to the back of the manor, lying in the grass and allowing various creatures to land on him or near him. The birds seemed particularly drawn to him, fluttering around his head for a few moments before settling on it. He assured Colonel Walter that they made excellent conversationalists, even attempting to drag him down onto the grass to join him in their discussion which had to be politely declined. Hatchworth had been in the library, engrossed in a storybook about fairies. When the colonel tried to tell him that he was in fact holding the book upside down, Hatchworth looked at him as if he was a fool, stating plainly that “it’s easier to read this way”. Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn’t. In any case, experience had taught the colonel that it certainly was easier not to argue with Hatchworth on such points.

All these meetings and conversations and such had happened within about two hours, a shorter period of time than how long Colonel Walter had spent searching for the final automaton. It seemed that The Spine was good at not being found when he so desired it. Despite Walter’s knowledge of every secret passage and hidden room, The Spine always managed to elude him. Walter smiled to himself: that he had been able to create something with such ingenuity pleased him. It was, however, frustrating when he wanted to actually talk to him. After almost three hours, he could only collapse against a wall in the hallway he was currently investigating, tired and ready to give up the search. The only thing that kept him from retreating back to his office or checking up on the other robots was an excess of steam coming from beneath the door directly opposite him. He stood and approached, the air feeling warmer already. The handle clicked as he gently pulled the door open, subsequently being hit with a wave of warm air. The room was one that he had not visited for a number of years: an old study, abandoned when its size could no longer accommodate Walter’s skills, equipment or paperwork. Having no windows or need for lighting, it was rather dark. From the light coming in from the corridor, Walter could make out a desk covered with white sheets, as well as several empty bookshelves lining the walls. In the centre, he could see two bright green spots looking at him, lighting up dark streaks running down silver faceplates.

“Seems that I’ve finally found you, lad.”  
His tone was cheery, but it evoked no response. Colonel Walter coughed, and quickly went to fetch a candle and stand. Upon returning, he lit it with the matches in his pocket and held it up to see the room in more detail. The Spine had not moved from the sheet-covered seat in the time Walter had been gone, his attentions focused on something on the desk. Bringing the candle in closer revealed it to be a dead mouse, mostly brown with small white ears. Walter tried to make eye contact with The Spine while pointing at the deceased rodent, an inquisitive tone in his voice.  
“Is this the reason you’ve been in here so long?”  
The silver head nodded, steam expelling from cheek vents.  
“I apologise, sir.”  
“What for?”  
“The mouse was The Jon’s idea. He found it in the garden some weeks ago and insisted on keeping it, no matter what I said. He didn’t want you knowing; he thought you would insist on getting rid of it due to it being dirty or wild or some such thing.”  
The Spine ran one finger along the mouse’s still form, brushing through its short fur.  
“I…found it like this just before breakfast, in the box The Jon had decided to house it in. I didn’t want The Jon to know what happened. Not yet, at least.”  
“So you’ve been up here all this time?”  
The response was slow.  
“I admit that my actions were…somewhat foolish. There’s also the matter of this malfunction.”  
“Malfunction?”  
The Spine gestured to his face, specifically the black marks.  
“Ever since I found the mouse, my photoreceptors have been leaking oil. I wanted to repair it myself, but I had no idea what would cause it. I hid to prevent any worry, but now I see that perhaps it wasn’t the best course of action.”  
Walter was somewhat taken aback by this. He had built these machines with emotions in mind, but he hadn’t anticipated this kind of response, at least not so soon.  
“Spine, tell me, did this leaking correspond with any particular event today?”  
The Spine thought for a moment, photoreceptors cast downwards.  
“I believe it was around the time I found the dead mouse, sir. Why, do you believe I’ve damaged myself somehow?”  
Walter smiled, his own eyes somewhat damp.  
“No, quite the opposite. I believe that you were crying, Spine.”

The Spine looked at him with a kind of confused scepticism.  
“Crying, sir?”  
“Yes, that’s right.”  
The silver automation leant back slightly, his brows somewhat furrowed.  
“With all due respect, Colonel, that seems unlikely. From what I’ve read, crying results from an irritation of the eyes or a strong emotional reaction. My photoreceptors cannot be irritated in such a way, and I felt rather little affection for this mouse. It was The Jon that gave it so much attention. There’s little reason that I should care for its death.”  
“You held no strong bonds with this mouse, that’s true. However, what were you thinking when you found the mouse this morning?”  
“I was thinking about what you would think if you found a dead mouse, and how The Jon would feel if he found it. I dare say he loved this mouse…”  
He stopped talking, electing to look down instead. Colonel Walter smiled and set the candle down on the desk before placing a hand on his wondrous creation’s shoulder.  
“That’s just it, my boy. It was your feelings for your brother that caused this so-called ‘malfunction’, not the mouse. You were worried about how he would feel and this manifested itself in tears. Frankly, I’m still amazed that a machine could achieve this, even one so advanced as yourself.”  
He lowered his face to The Spine’s level (which was not far, given the automaton’s height), hand still on his shoulder.  
“Those marks on your face are a perfectly natural reaction to such an event. Emotions can be a frightening thing, lad, but acknowledging them helps you grow and mature.”  
“So this will…happen again?”  
“Indeed. Next time, however, you will be prepared for such a thing. You will be able to think about exactly which emotions are causing such a state.”  
“Seems simple enough.”  
“In theory, yes. However, there are many who may experience emotion without a clear origin, or even be the origin of it themselves. Trying to understand such states can aid you and those around you: you can determine whether or not you are causing someone else’s emotional state. It is entirely possible to be a helper or a hindrance to someone. Perhaps even both.”  
It was Walter who stopped talking this time, his expression becoming sombre and somewhat lost, as if looking at something far off. The Spine placed his hand on the colonel’s hand, and stood from his seat.  
“I believe I understand, sir. I will reflect on it.”  
His words brought Walter back, putting a smile on his face.  
“You’ll better understand such things in time, lad, I assure you.”  
He picked up the mouse from the desk, cradling it in both hands so as not to damage it in any way.  
“Now, shall we see about giving this little fellow a proper funeral?”  
“Of course, sir.”  
They both left the study, The Spine removing the candle from the desk and closing the door with a soft ‘click’.


End file.
